


it takes two (to do the waltz)

by lufink



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27846942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufink/pseuds/lufink
Summary: Being in the world-saving business provides quite the adventure. Sometimes you have to beat the shit out of some dudes, sometimes you carefully craft a heist and somehow it all goes south, and you have to beat the shit out of some dudesagain. Today, though, you’re married to Neil, and you’re certain there’s an inside joke here, one you don't get yet.(Or that time you went to a masquerade as a married couple, and evenwaltzeda little to blend in.)
Relationships: Neil & The Protagonist (Tenet), Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 77





	it takes two (to do the waltz)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ehxia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehxia/gifts).
  * Translation into Français available: [La valse a mis l'temps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28168713) by [lufink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufink/pseuds/lufink)



> **disclaimer:** i own nothing.
> 
> hey lads, it's _write protagoneil for your nakama challenge_ , so here's a lil gift to my dearest darling Mau <3<3 no italian was harmed during the writing phase i swear; hope you'll enjoy this, take care <3

Today, you’re married to Neil.

Not in the literal sense; espionage makes you do all the crazy undercover stuff, and you have the evening to get intel _back_ (some higher-ups certainly _don’t_ need to know about Tenet just yet).

So here you are, married to a Neil you barely recognize – it’s the posture and the hair and the cologne _and everything really_ – ready to sneak around and hopefully make some trouble on the way out. You both have to pass as friends of a friend of whoever billionaire is dancing here, and the masks are helping.

“A _masquerade_ ,” you remember asking, dumbfounded. “What is it, the 1950’s?”

Neil simply replied “You know, _Italians_.” and when you look around, well. You kinda get it.

Besides, _Neil_ is extremely irritating tonight. Kissing you on the cheeks and fumbling his hands in yours, all for pretense – he’s actually whispering locations and giving you notes – and honestly? You believe he’s a little too good at playing husband, the bastard.

(You also know you won’t hear the end of it because Ives and his team have you both on camera, _for safety reasons_.)

The dancing part is by far the most distracting. You trained for this – and you remember every minute, your feet stumbling and all the scolding, _J_ _esus, it’s a viennese waltz not a tango_ , hearts beating faster and faster and _faster_ – and you’re excellent, bodies in orbit but never colliding, words unsaid sealed between your lips while Neil’s eyes gleam like sunset behind his ornate mask.

“May I kiss you?” you politely ask; it's more a warning than a question though, and whilst you lean in, Neil grins.

(You’re gonna pretend you had to stay in character, and Wheeler will give you a very unimpressed look.)

Afterwards, there is more talking. You have a gun however right now your weapon is all smiles – fake, but thankfully the canapés are exquisite – and you can’t wait for Neil to get the goddamn intel to leave this fancy privileged shithole of a ballroom nonsense for _good_.

Or at least, for the night. You unfortunately get cleared without the expected trouble, and the next morning – after a quick jog, because you ain’t skipping leg day – you find yourself buying French viennoiseries on your way back to the hotel.

When you enter the room – you only booked one, you’re a married man until at best 8 a.m. – Neil is getting dressed, his sleepy head still very much in place. The coffee you brought as well – you’re quite good at playing husband yourself – seems like a blessing, and maybe you bask a little in the moment.

You talk and talk and talk; about what, you have no idea. It’s unimportant, for what matters is the crashing of the waves and all the laughing and the _smiles_ – proper, sincere ones – you both offer to the other with great generosity, munching croissants on the side.

(What matters is how you found yourself entangled with Neil at the crack of dawn, positively groggy from sleep yet remembering with utmost clarity you never intended to. Seems to be just how it is, with him; later, you’ll both joke on that.)

It’s well past 11 when you leave, and you’re no longer married. You figure you’ll make time to correct that, and the sun has never shone brighter on the way home.


End file.
